


The Language of Bodies

by ghostspine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Drabble Collection, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Multi, Random & Short, Threesome - F/M/M, Vignette, scenes from stories i'll (probably) never write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-11-08 19:24:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20840744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostspine/pseuds/ghostspine
Summary: A collection of short scenes and ideas from stories not written—of love, sex, and other humanly things.Mostly Draco/Hermione with a revolving door of supporting characters. Ratings vary; tags updated as necessary.





	1. Round Two

**Author's Note:**

> I post mainly on [Tumblr](https://ghostspines.tumblr.com) because some wayward bunnies could land me in Tumblr jail. How I’m aiming to decide when to post here versus there—most likely arbitrary unless it’s, y’know, explicit.

> **Pairing:** Draco/Hermione/Theo  
**Rating:** E  
**Tags:** Threesome
> 
> **Prompt:** N/A

* * *

“Tell me what you want, love, or you’ll never get it.”

The way he says it—hushed and lazily, as if he has all the time in the world, as if he isn’t collapsing under the weight of inhuman desire like she is—angers her. But also—_also_, she sighs, blissful and breathless and this is awful. It feels so damn awf—

“I—oh _god_…!”

Draco chuckles, peppering kisses along the back of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. Hermione whimpers, writhing in his lap as her back arches, her motions sliding her bum forward and spreading her legs wider, taking him more fully, and it feels _so good_. Her breathing is ragged and her face flushed from exertion and the awareness of how wanton she must look—so naked and _so open_.

Her arms are pulled roughly behind her, and she struggles against the firm hold he has around her wrists, his other hand resting lightly on her hip as he manipulates her movements that prolongs the sensation curling between her legs.

“Tell me,” he coaxes teasingly, his voice low and rumbling. She can feel her wetness pool between her thighs, coating his cock. She squeezes her eyes shut as she attempts to move, to burn off the electricity that hums inside of her, just barely out of reach. It’s unbearable, this heat, as though every touch and maneuver is multiplied tenfold, her nerve endings catching fire.

There’s a sharp nibble at her inner thigh that draws a gasp from her lips. With effort, she opens her eyes and looks down between her legs at the face that smirks at her—past her—at Draco. 

“More,” she whispers, nearly panting with desperation.

“Is that good enough for you, Draco?” Theo’s eyes glitter with mischief. He takes the skin of her thigh between his teeth, applying pressure until it stings—until she unknowingly leans into the sharpness of it, yearning for it—and he pulls away with a tender stroke of his tongue on her marked skin.

“Do you want him to kiss you, Granger?” A shallow thrust. “Let him taste your cunt while I fuck you? Hm?” Another, _deeper_.

She moans, eyes rolling back, her breathing faster, grinding herself against him and desperate for more friction. Draco releases her wrists and positions his hands on her waist, lifting her up until the head of his cock remains inside her and brings her down—again and again, slow, _agonizingly_ slow.

“Please, please, _please_..!” She chokes at the end and swallows hard.

“Now, now, Draco,” Theo says, his attention on his fingers lightly grazing her clit. “How could we resist a plea like that?”

Draco nips her shoulder, hand tangling in her head of curls as he jerks her roughly to face him. He looks hungry, eyes darkening, and when Theo suddenly replaces his fingers with his mouth, Draco captures her shriek with a kiss. She feels worshipped, so full and stretched, and pulls away from the kiss and gasps for air, tension twisting and coiling _and_—

“Come, Hermione.”

The command does her in, her body undulating like the sea as her thighs ache to close, but Theo growls and forces her open, tongue flat and hard against her, sucking her clit between his lips until she cries out again, loose-limbed and soaked and shaking from the blind intensity of it. She blinks up at the ceiling until her vision steadies, and when Draco shifts slightly, tapping at her leg, she looks down.

Theo gazes fondly up at her, grinning devilishly, cheek resting against her knee.

"Again?"


	2. Untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco awakens to Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of thoughts on Alpha/Omega dynamics and what about it I personally like and dislike. This was sort of an attempt at whatever fuzzy details I’ve envisioned. But the very basic idea I had was that their realization into their respective roles and resulting relationship was symbiotic in nature. I wanted this to be darkly sensual and pretty much focused on all the trash tropes I’m keen on. Don't know if I'll continue it, but I just wanted to get the foundation out.

> **Pairing:** Draco/Hermione  
**Rating:** E  
**Tags:** A/B/O
> 
> **Prompt:** N/A

Draco opens his eyes to darkness first, startled with an intensity of a nearby presence. It’s when he sits up, blanket falling from his bare torso and pooling around his hips, that he blinks away the sleepy fog and sees the figure before him. His mouth dries. Hermione Granger is dipped in moonlight, naked and milk-skin glowing, her gaze fixed with purpose on him. There is an unsettling blankness in her features, but her eyes are full of heat, of intent, and her exhales are shallow and quicker.

“I could smell you,” she murmurs dazedly, like she’s staring right through him. She plants her hands on the bed, bringing one knee up, followed by the other. Her movements are liquid, feline, and he’s hypnotized. She crawls up towards him, and she’s hovering over him as he holds his weight on his forearms. He can smell her more distinctly now—lavender and honey—and he can feel himself _salivate_. The moonlight on his skin suddenly feels like fire, and there’s a growl in his throat.

She pulls the blanket further off him and sits herself on his lap, straddling him. He can feel himself harden against her where she’s wet. He can _feel_ her.

She cups his face in her hands, her finger moving over his lips.

“_Alpha_,” she breathes so softly, the word fading as though the wind’s been knocked out of her chest. “I _need_ you.”

When he blinks, everything is sharp and defined. He can see every detail of her, wants to taste her, could drown in her. He doesn’t think when he roughly pulls her mouth to his, teeth clashing and tongues wrestling for dominance. It happens quickly: his hand dips down between her thighs, fingers rubbing against her slit before parting her, and he’s adjusting the waistband of his pants off and sheathes himself inside her. She’s gasping and moaning softly against his mouth, allowing herself to move with his manipulations. She’s dripping and wanton, arms falling limply over his shoulders, her mouth opening soundlessly as he thrusts his cock deeper, hands gripped tightly around her waist as he desperately chases stars. When she begs quietly in his ear, his fingers move to find her clit, rubbing her furiously in tandem with his thrusts until she arches her back and stiffens. She’s shaking and beautiful, her neck bared for him to lick, to take the skin there and suck until it bruises her red and _marked_.

Their breathing is still staggered when she comes down from the high and sees him. There’s a glint in her eyes when she maneuvers away from him, positions herself on her hands and knees before guiding the upper half of her body on his silk covers, cheek resting on the back of her hand. She doesn’t look at him, but he hears her choke back a cry, a plea: “_More_.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

* * *

It feels like a dream, but when he sees her the next morning sitting in the courtyard with Potter and Weasley, he is overcome with fury. It’s in his bones, the way it ignites him. But he quells it, saunters over until they’re fully aware of him. Weasley sneers at him, urges him to die with his gaze alone, and Potter furrows his brows. Draco clenches and unclenches his fists; he wants to grab them by their collars and wrench them away from her.

Hermione looks up curiously at him. She looks genuinely startled by the sight of him, like she hasn’t seen him since term started four months ago and not _last night_, when she yearned endlessly and selfishly for him and only him.

“Everything all right, Malfoy?”

He glares at her.

“You and I need to talk.”

“Like hell she will!” Weasley is a thorn in his side when he scrambles up to his feet and shoves him. He thinks he could rip him to pieces if he does it again.

Potter also rises to his feet and moves to partly obscure her from his sight.

It feels intuitive: there is a rumble in his chest, and he forces her friends aside in spite of their angry protestations, until he can see her. He wants her to _see_ him.

“_Now_.”

It is a command, a vibrating echo that she hears. She nods her head almost imperceptibly and stands, ignores Weasley and Potter’s exclamations and steps around them.

Without another word, he turns on his heel and walks away; she follows.


End file.
